


Woven Together

by prideofprewett



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Between Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, One Big Happy Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Pre-Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), Romance, Weasley Family-centric (Harry Potter), Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25916647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prideofprewett/pseuds/prideofprewett
Summary: Molly knit a blanket right before her marriage to Arthur and it became a fixture at The Burrow throughout the years. Basically an excuse to write Weasley family fluff basically.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, The Weasleys - Relationship, weasley family - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Molly (1970)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a series of drabbles about a blanket and my favorite fam in the series. Each chapter will be a new POV. Thanks to my fangirl bestie (everyshipunsinkable via tumblr) for indulging in my never ending Weasley head canons. Enjoy!

The intermittent crackle from the fire dying against the wood in the fireplace and occasional drone of Arthur’s light snores filled the tiny bedroom above the dingy pub in Bourton-on-the-Water. The room was equipped with a full sized, four poster bed with intricately carved designs into the posts and headboard. There was a square table where a single gas lamp, a water pitcher, and a bowl for washing rested, and this was pushed on the far wall beneath a small, circular window. There were ornate gold frames with paintings that depicted various scenes from the English countryside filling open spaces on the wall. Directly in front of the bed was a small fireplace, and a tall, wing back armchair printed with a brown and red paisley print. 

The cushions were thin, the frame of the seat hard and stiff as Molly settled in. Her mind was uncannily alert and with a multitude of thoughts presenting themselves to her in the early hours of morning. Bending her legs beneath her, she drew the knit afghan she stole from the bed tightly around her shoulders. The rough wool was warm and welcoming against the slight chill in the air. She glanced down at the granny square patterned blanket, her mind wandering back to when it was nothing more than a photograph in Witch Weekly. 

The moment Arthur proposed to her, Molly knew she wanted to give them something special for their first home. And given her skill with smart stitch yarn and spellcasting, a knit blanket seemed like the perfect thing to offer him. This particular pattern, squares outlined in black with bursts of diamond shaped flowers of every colour imaginable, had taken her nearly a month. Simple, single colored patterns took a matter of days. But she knew what she made for them had to be something special. Because he was special. And what they shared was even more so.

She smiled softly to herself, bringing a tentative hand to her lower abdomen. This wasn’t how she saw her life panning out at twenty, but she’d never admit it out loud to anyone. Not even Arthur. 

(Arthur, who was barreling ahead into husbandry and fatherhood as though he spent a lifetime preparing for it. Arthur, with his helpful books on what to expect, how to care for a child, and the like. Arthur, with his incessant need to make her feel loved, to revel in the prospect of turning her into Mrs. Molly Weasley.)

It wasn’t an unwelcome revelation, Molly decided, but certainly an unexpected one. She had had dreams outside of motherhood, outside of being Arthur’s wife. 

And he told her that she could still have those things. That he would do whatever he could for her to continue her Healer training. That he wasn’t trapping her by marrying her so soon, but he was trying to do the right thing given her current condition. This last admission left her doubting it all; almost like it was too good to be true. Even with all those years of dating, years where they proclaimed their feelings for one another, she wondered if she left him no choice now. The question of would he choose differently if she hadn’t fallen pregnant, began haunting her. 

But Arthur, eternally being optimistic and steadfast must have sensed this thread of doubt creeping up inside of her. For he took it upon himself to lavish her with attention and sweet sentiments all weekend long. He kept muttering sweet words of reassurance at every meal they shared ( _“I’m so happy to be here with you..with the both of you...”_ ), while they strolled throughout the village ( _“Isn’t this nice? No pressure that would’ve come with all the planning...just us...doing however we please...”_ ), and in between making love to her _(“I love you, Molly Weasley...gods I love you...”)_.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn’t hear Arthur stirring. Only when the wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet while he was padding towards her did she look up.

“All right, Molls?” He murmured sleepily, stifling a yawn and rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands. His hair, catching the flickering glow from the dying fire, stuck up at odd angles in the back. 

Her smile deepened when she noticed this, and she nodded. He stroked the side of her face with the back of his knuckles, his hand moving to her shoulder and squeezing it affectionately. “Come back to bed,” He pleaded softly.

Leaning towards his hand, she mumbled with a sigh, “I’m not tired.”

Her mind kept reeling with what they’d just done. How they ran off to this sleepy, little village and found a holy man willing to join them as husband and wife with Muggle strangers for witnesses. Arthur had been so tickled at this part of it. She teased him about whether or not he was more excited about being surrounded by Muggles than by being her husband. Of course he denied it fervently, showing her just how enthusiastic he was to be married to her by whisking her away to this room he rented for the weekend. 

“Hmm…” Arthur’s amused humming brought her back and he bent forward so their faces were centimetres apart. “...we don’t have to sleep.”

He waited a beat for her to register his meaning. Then a cheeky grin spread across his face, prompting her to laugh sharply, her face growing hot while she looked down between them.

“You naughty boy,” She mused, her mouth contorting into a shy, half smile now. “Haven’t you had enough of me?” 

“No,” He answered sweetly, tipping her chin back with his forefinger so that her face glanced up to find his. 

Her stomach tightened with desire as she took in the hungry look in his brilliant blue eyes, intently staring and slightly squinting without the aid of his glasses. Before he could ask her the same question in return, she shrugged out of the woolly blanket, her arms coming around his neck to join their lips in a soft, firm kiss. 

Arthur returned her kiss with a languid, burning passion that reverberated off of him and into her. Chills erupted over her bare arms, and when their mouths broke apart she whispered throatily, “Then you best take me to bed.”

His hand ran from the crook of her neck down her arm until it met hers, and he pulled her to her feet. Bringing the back of her hand to his lips, he murmured softly once more, “I love you, Molly Weasley.”

She didn’t think she’d ever tire of hearing these words that exorcised the lingering doubt haunting her.


	2. Arthur (1975)

Arthur spread the knit blanket out underneath the apricot tree that rose up just barely above his head. The widespread branches shaded the blanket and the wooden basket that Molly deposited in the center of it. Arthur had plans to grow an orchard full of trees one day, but for now this one would suffice.

The air was warm and the sun kept playing hide and seek behind white, puffy clouds. A cool spring breeze fluttered by every so often, carrying the smell of fresh grass and fragrant wildflowers that rose up at various points across the grounds. The lawn wasn’t pristine by any means, patches of dried brown and unruly green alternated randomly. It almost gave a similar impression to that of the granny square patterned throw they were currently using. It with its wild colours that clashed and coordinated simultaneously; a design wholly unique to being a Weasley.

And the blanket in question, was easily one of the family’s favorites. It was breathable enough to use on any given day, and in spite of being made of wool, there was another magical element to it that made it unusually soft. It was also large enough for all four Weasleys to snuggle together beneath it. Or in this case, sit on top of it and have a picnic. 

Molly brandished her wand and cast a sticking charm on the four corners of the blankets, to keep the spurts of wind from having it fly in on itself. Arthur took out his own wand, conjuring several pillows of various shapes and sizes for them to rest on. He knew how the boys liked stacking several round ones all around themselves, and Molly preferred a long c-shaped one, so she could lounge on her side. 

But at present, only Molly and him were aware of the picnic that was about to unfold. The boys were too busy zooming around on their toy brooms to notice their mother unpacking the contents of the basket or their father stacking pillows around the perimeter to help make space. Bill swooped high and low, about four feet into the air. The age restriction charm on his broomstick was set to allow him more freedom than merely hovering a few inches above the ground unlike Charlie’s. Still, the lack of height didn’t appear to be hampering Charlie’s zealous flying. He was zipping all around the sloping lawn, turning sharply at the garden, and speeding around the back side of the house before returning towards them at breakneck speed.

On one such circuit, he whooshed in between them so swiftly that the skirt of Molly’s pale, blue dress fluttered and Arthur jumped back automatically, Bill dove down sharply when he came around the bend, nearly cutting him off. Charlie automatically rerouted before bringing the broom up enough to playfully evade his older brother. 

This caught Molly’s attention and she yelled after them sharply, “Bill, not so fast! Charlie’s too little!” 

Arthur noted the traces of anxiety in her words. He knew she hated flying back when they started going together, and not even the passage of time had changed that. Even on one such occasion, when he took her around the Hogwarts grounds at sunset thinking it would be a romantic outing, Molly kept her arms wrapped tightly around his middle with her face pressed in between his shoulder blades. He flew lower in an attempt to try and get her more comfortable with the idea, especially since he enjoyed feeling her body so close to his. But in the end, her constant trembling and simpering made him touch back onto the ground not even ten minutes after taking off. 

To say she was most displeased when he came home with two toy brooms for Bill and Charlie (instead of putting the twenty galleons towards one of the many home improvement projects that kept popping up) was something of an understatement. He supposed Charlie’s inclination to go at breakneck speed and Bill encouraging this sort of behavior were just two other things for her to be cross about on top of Arthur purchasing the items. 

“I’m not even going _that_ fast, _Mum_!” Bill shouted back over his shoulder while he braked left and then went about leisurely flying in figure eight shaped patterns.

Charlie continued his trip back up and around the house, looking like a blur. Perhaps he purchased a defective one for his youngest, the toddler models weren’t supposed to go _that_ fast. But he would never vocalize this to Molly outright. No, she’d be sure to come up with another punishment for him aside from making smart remarks and frowning anytime the brooms made an appearance outside of the lean-to shed. 

Instead, he settled for, “It appears Charlie doesn’t need any provocation to go fast.” 

This earned him a narrowed gaze. Even with her thin lips drawn together in a tight frown and hands balled into fists into the crook of her hip, he fought back the amused smile that threatened to appear. 

Cocking her head to one side, Molly threatened, “If he gets hurt…”

“I know. I know.” Arthur brought his hands up between them as a form of surrender before reaching for her forearms and pulling her closer. He was met with resistance as she tried to stay rooted on the spot instead of stepping into his arms. Inclining his head forward, he muttered with a wry half smile, “I’m taking him to Mungo’s.”

“And I’m burning his broom,” She countered stiffly, arching her ginger brows indignantly.

“You’ll do no such thing,” He gave a weary sigh before reminding her plainly. “Not at ten galleons a piece.”

“Utter waste,” She grumbled, casting her eyes off to the side. “We could’ve replaced the windows in their bedroom.” She turned away from him until his hands fell away. She folded her arms in front of her, taking two steps away from him.

It didn’t matter that there would be plenty of time for him to do that before the weather turned cold. It didn’t matter that the protection spells he placed there every night, and she placed there every morning were strong enough to hold whatever evil might eventually find them. When Molly wanted something done for the boys, she wanted it done, excuses notwithstanding. She’d become a rather no nonsense sort of Mum, and while Arthur oftentimes found it endearing, it also had the ability to grate on his nerves. Like it did now.

“Oh come off it, Molly. It’s not as bad as all that,” He continued, his voice straining. 

Arthur knew this had the ability to turn into a fight. And he didn’t wish to do so in front of the boys. So he took two steps forward and then his arms wrapped around her middle. Her body tensed, but he held on tighter still. His lips pressed at the top of her shoulder before resting his chin there. 

“Look how happy they are,” He went on enticingly as they stood there, watching both boys chase after one another playfully.

Her breathing was shallow and uneven, and he knew she was still seeing red, her mind whirring like a sneakoscope in the presence of someone unsavory. But Arthur would always try. He would always try to keep her steady, just as she would always try to keep his feet on the ground. But getting to that point of desired equilibrium wasn’t always easy. As was evident by the toy broom argument of 1975 they were currently battling through.

“You worry too much, Mollywobbles,” He muttered, squeezing her middle again, pressing his lips against her temple this time. 

“And you not enough,” She replied in a softer sort of way, almost bordering on sad. It pained him to hear this sudden shift in her demeanor.

“Molly…” He sighed, his arms beginning their retreat as he stood up to full height now.

She turned, and he saw the worry pooling in her eyes and she blurted out, “I think Fabian and Gideon are up to something.”

Her abrupt words surprised him, but he wasn’t surprised by their meaning. He had surmised the same thing for some time now. It was hard not to notice their long absences from home, their lack of communication and when word did come from them, how cryptic it was in nature.

They were Aurors, so at first, a lot of this could be explained as them simply being on a case. But in the last few months other telling signs began popping up. When they started falling behind on their paperwork when Arthur needed several reports from them to present to the head of his department. When he noticed the gaping discrepancies in said reports when before they’d been pristine. And when they suddenly began talking to Arthur about taking protective measures with The Burrow, a few bells went off inside his head. Certainly these were uncertain times, and the Prewett twins loved their family, they were merely being cautious.

It didn’t seem too unusual until they mentioned a list with the heading _Known Blood Traitors._ And on that list was the name Prewett just ahead of Weasley. Until they suggested then damn near demanded that Molly quit working at the MMA House*, stating it was no longer safe. She bristled at this, but then lost her entire mind when Fabian rather adamantly told her that she ought to stay home and mind her family like a good wife and mother. It took Arthur and Gideon to hold both of them back from saying or spell casting things they didn’t really mean. But that was before Fabian rounded on him too, suggesting he transfer to another, less visible department like Magical Maintenance or Magical Games. At that point Arthur told him to kindly leave, he would not be told how to live his life by anyone, least of all his hot headed brother-in-law.

In the calm following that particular storm of events, Arthur heard the metaphorical whistles sounding along with the previous bells inside his head. That’s when he knew the Prewett twins were likely involved in this war more than Molly and him. 

And in this particular moment, it became clear to him now that her rigidness towards him over the last week wasn't only about toy brooms and carelessly spent galleons. 

Which is what prompted him to reply gently, lowering his gaze between them, “I think you’re right.”

“When will it all end?” She whispered rather frantically, prompting him to glance up and take her hands. Whether this gesture was to soothe her or him more, he couldn’t know for certain.

Exhaling deeply and shaking his head, Arthur slowly sank down on the blanket, bringing her with him. She leaned into his chest, and he pressed his back into the rough bark of the tree behind him. His arm draped lazily around her waist, and he quickly checked that the boys were still entertaining themselves in an appropriate fashion.

Satisfied by the fact they were now simply racing up and down the sloping lawn in a straight line, he breathed out quietly, “We can’t know that.” 

She shifted against him, and Arthur placed a reassuring kiss at the crown of her frizzy, red hair. Resting his cheek at the back of her head, he remarked lightly, “But...what we do know is...it’s a lovely day for a picnic.” 

In a faraway voice, he heard her reply, “It is, isn’t it?”

Her hand came up over his, their fingers linking together. Arthur smiled, thinking they’d found their equilibrium once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *For those of you who have not read my fic We Were Only Kids . MMA House was a home for children who were Muggle born with magical abilities whose Muggle parents did not want them. Sort of like an orphanage. Molly’s Mama was the founder of this particular program that was part of a larger organization I created in that fic called WERC (Witches Equal Rights Committee). I envisioned the Wizarding World in that fictional universe having similar civil rights/feminist movements that our Muggle World did in the 60s & 70s. And of course, Molly and Arthur being the social justice warrior parents that they are in canon, I felt it appropriate they would be exposed to the fight for equality early on in their lives and take it very seriously. More of these concepts will be explored in my planned sequel (and possible trilogy, that is still up for debate), so stay tuned.


	3. Charlie (1978)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing from a child's POV, so I'd be interested in hearing whether you think this is a believable portrayal. Also, the blanket is more or less just making cameos in some of these chapters it seems haha. Oh well, it's Weasley family fluff, so if you're here for that then you're in the right place. Enjoy!

The lit up icicles hung along the exterior of The Burrow, sparkling through the darkness of early night. Charlie watched the snowflakes twinkle as they fell in thick droves, joining the glittering piles of snow that clumped together in the garden. His nose was pressed against the frigid glass of the sitting room window, his breath fogging it up every few seconds so he had to pull away and wipe the smudges away with his tiny fist.

It was the time of year when the sun went to bed early, but Charlie felt like he couldn’t. The exciting anticipation that came with his birthday had already faded, but there was always Christmas shortly after. And he loved Christmas. Thinking of the particular day always made his stomach bounce like he swallowed a swarm of Billywigs. His Daddy always said if you were stung by one you’d laugh until your belly ached and float above the ground. Charlie thought maybe the same was true if you swallowed one. He’d have to ask Daddy if he ever tried swallowing a Billywig before.

Thinking of Daddy drew his eyes further into the distance to where the piercing glow of icy blue light came from his Daddy’s shed. Charlie leaned an elbow on the back of the settee and let out a heavy sigh. Mummy said there were all kinds of dangerous Muggle contraptions in there, which is why he wasn’t allowed to visit. But Billy was. And it really didn’t seem fair. 

Billy was only eight, not even in double digits yet like Mummy and Daddy were. And Charlie was six, which was only two years younger than Billy. He was much older than Percy, and a super big boy compared to the babies. He should be allowed to go and be with his Daddy in the shed too. He shouldn’t have to stay behind with the babies. 

And then an idea popped into his head. If he could maybe see that Mummy was distracted long enough for him to unlatch the kitchen door and sneak outside, he probably could join Daddy and Billy without her knowing. 

Turning around on the settee, he saw Percy sitting on the floor, dropping his old wooden blocks and some purple, Glidder Gloop* into the old toy cauldron that was also his before he became too big for it. Percy was whispering something that didn’t make any sense to Charlie while he took a wooden spoon that had been stolen from the kitchen at some point in time and began stirring the mess of toys inside.

Hopping down from his place on the settee, Charlie knelt down beside Percy and chided, “Mummy’s going to be maaaad.”

Percy furrowed his brow, his eyes narrowing in a weird sort of way and his bottom lip jutted out in a pout, “W-why?”

“You stole her spoon,” Charlie whispered, trying to pry it out of Percy’s firm grip.

A look of horror spread across Percy’s face, and he argued shrilly, “No I-I didn’...it-it was here!”

“Mummy!” Charlie called out to his mother, who was busy doing something in the kitchen. 

Percy began whimpering, his voice rising several indignant octaves, “No Char-wee! No!” He released his grip on the spoon and Charlie fell back with it in his hand.

“Mummy!” Charlie then pranced about the room chanting, “Percy stole your spoon!”

“No Char...no Muma! No Muma I…” 

He’d done it now. Percy was crying, his face all screwed up, bottom lip jittering. 

Mummy came sliding into the room from the kitchen, her eyes looking widened and wild. She hissed at them both, “Shhh...boys, be quiet, the twins are…!”

And then Charlie felt the familiar tightening in his stomach as two sets of lungs began shrieking and crying at full volume above them. Percy covered his ears with his palms, still crying, and Charlie’s whole body tensed. In his haste to use Percy as a distraction, he’d forgotten about the twins sleeping upstairs. He’d forgotten how upset Mummy had been all day because they wouldn’t stop crying. And definitely forgot how relieved she’d been whenever they finally fell asleep.

“Charliee! Urgh!” Mummy groaned with her head tossed back before stomping up the stairs. 

His face flushed hot with shame as he suddenly remembered. Now he’d gone and ruined it all.

Percy went on blubbering, wiping at his eyes with his fierce, little fists, “You mean, Char-wee. You m-m-make Mum-ma m-mad.”

Feeling a little bit guilty for making his younger brother feel bad, Charlie patted his shoulder and told him, “She’s not mad, Percy. Not at you. Just me.” Then he exhaled rather dramatically, glaring up the stairs, “Stupid babies.”

“Why do we...have to...have to...have...them?” Percy asked, sniffling. 

Charlie went on patting his shoulder, shrugging, “I dunno. You weren’t a stupid baby. Not like Freddie and Georgie. You weren’t loud.”

Sniffing again and glancing up with glassy eyes, Percy wondered, “Were...were you?”

Shrugging once he admitted, “I dunno. We can ask Billy.”

Then his heart skipped as he thought of Billy. And he remembered suddenly what he wanted to do. 

“Percy…” He leaned forward, whispering in his brother’s ear, “...don’t tell Muma.”

“Wh-what?!” He balked, prompting Charlie to press his forefinger to his mouth.

“Shh...whisper. Like this.” He instructed softly, light brown eyes meeting tiny, awestruck blue ones. Percy nodded, and then Charlie added in a hushed voice, “Just keep playing, kay?”

Leaning forward, Percy’s brow inverted as he asked curiously, “Where you go, Char-wee?”

“To ask Billy if I was a loud and stupid baby,” Charlie answered, his tone bordering on serious. “But you can’t tell Mummy. Our secret, okay?”

Percy wordlessly nodded, and that was good enough for Charlie.

Scrambling to his feet, Charlie hurried towards the kitchen door. His fingers trembled as he undid the latch on the door, and he pushed it open. It was so easy. Then the cold winter wind whipped at his face, and his arms automatically hugged his chest. It was really cold outside.

But he didn’t have time to think about that. Mummy would come downstairs soon and he would be in trouble if she found out what he was doing. And he wanted to be like Billy. Billy was brave. Now was  _ his _ chance to be brave. 

Armed with nothing more than a lumpy, blue jumper, his khaki shorts, and woolen green socks that Mummy made, Charlie hurled himself out into the cold night air. He felt like a Nundu streaking across the plains of Africa. He first read about Nundu’s from the book  _ 1,001 Magical Creatures _ . It had been Billy’s book before it was his, and he offered it to Percy, but Percy did not like it as much as him. So it was still Charlie’s. 

His feet felt invisible from the cold. He hadn’t thought about putting shoes on his sock covered feet. But he knew Daddy would magically dry them off for him once he reached the shed. The bright light beckoned Charlie as he drew nearer. And suddenly he was at the front door, tugging at the handle.

He hadn’t expected it to be locked. After several attempts, he started banging on the door. “Daddy...Daddy…!”

The door suddenly fell inward, and Charlie stumbled forward into the mess of a shed. He saw Billy seated in front of one of the benches, lifting a pair of surprised brows. There were two things on the bench in front of him. They looked like record players, but there was something the matter with them. It was like their guts were spilling out. 

But he didn’t have time to think because Daddy was locking the door shut again and kneeling in front of him. “Charles Marvin…” He marveled rubbing his hands up and down Charle’s arms and then his legs that felt like they might be invisible. “...what were you thinking running outside like that?”

In between his chattering teeth, Charlie explained, “I w-w-was...a-a Nun-nundu.”

“A what?” Daddy laughed a bit when he said it, so that made Charlie feel less nervous about being here. He watched Daddy take out his wand, and wave it over his damp clothes. 

Everything suddenly felt warm and cozy all over, just like Christmas morning when they were all opening presents and the fire was burning brightly. 

“A Nundu!” Charlie exclaimed, bringing his arms in front of him like they were shorter, imitating the creature he envisioned in his mind. 

Daddy frowned, clearly he was confused. Charlie didn’t understand how it was possible. Daddy was supposed to know everything.

“One of those lions with the deadly breath, Dad,” Billy supplied in a bored tone. 

“See, Billy knows!”

“Ok well...what on earth were you doing being a Nundu? It’s freezing outside!” Turning around, he pulled the black blanket with the colorful flowers that Mummy made a long time ago from a shelf, dusted it off and wrapped it around his son. 

It was warm and smelled sweet and spicy like Mummy did. Which was surprising because Daddy’s shed smelled like metal and something burnt. The tension in his belly began to unwind and he felt at ease as he clutched the knit blanket around his shoulders. 

“Charles Marvin,” Daddy’s voice stole his attention once more. Daddy didn’t sound mad, but he sounded firm, which was unusual. Then he went on, his light eyes kind, “You know you have to tell me. Otherwise we won’t be able to explain it to your mother.”

Daddy was right. But suddenly Charlie felt very shy when confronted with his reasons for wanting to join his father and big brother in the shed. His cheeks felt like they were hot, and his heart fluttered faster inside his chest like a flock of Flutterbys. 

“Charlieee…” Daddy drawled, ruffling his hair in a way that made him scrunch up his nose. 

His hand came up to smooth his hair down again and he explained, keeping his eyes anywhere but on his father’s face, “The babies are loud when they cry. And Percy cries a lot too.”

“Ah,” He heard the understanding come from Daddy. Cocking his head to one side, he explained simply, “Yes well...babies tend to do that.”

Frowning up at him, Charlie asked the very thing Percy and him had been wondering a few minutes ago, “Why do we have to have babies?”

Daddy’s brows lifted like Billy’s had moments ago. They looked a lot alike, like Freddie and Georgie did. But Daddy had glasses and Billy had longer, ginger hair. A tone of surprise came from his father, “You don’t like being a big brother?”

Charlie shrugged, playing with the looser stitches of the blanket. “I don’t like being with the babies. Why can’t I be with Billy and you?” 

He paused enough to hear Daddy let out a tired breath.

This spurred him on to puff out his chest and insist, “I _ am _ six!”

Daddy smiled at him, brushing his knuckles across the back of his cheek in a swift gesture. Standing up to full height once more, Charlie thought his father looked like a giant, but he knew he wasn’t. Placing a hand at the back of Charlie’s shoulder he agreed, “Yes, you are.”

“And Billy’s only eight!” He lifted his arm through the blanket, pointing at Bill.

His brother rejoined a bit haughtily, “That’s two years older than you!”

“That’s not a lot!” Charlie insisted, “Percy’s four years younger than me! That’s more!”

“Alright, alright…” Daddy held up his hands between them. Charlie knew to stop fighting because more often than not, this hand gesture meant that Daddy was about to agree to something. Guiding Charlie with the back of his hand at his shoulder, Daddy informed him, “You can stay in here with Billy and I.”

Charlie smiled, rather pleased with himself. His plan had worked out after all. But then his thoughts flickered back to Mummy for a minute, and he wondered if he should head back to the house. “Mummy’s going to be mad isn’t she?” He asked hesitantly.

Daddy was swishing his wand about, cleaning a square metal chair that was a foot or so away from where Billy sat. “Yes, I suspect she will be a little cross with you leaving the house like you did,” Daddy told him. He then gestured for his son to climb up on the chair. Casting him a look over the top part of his large glasses he reminded Charlie, “You can’t just leave like that. Especially without shoes or a proper cloak.”

Glancing downward, Charlie murmured, “Yes Daddy.”

“Good lad,” Daddy patted him on the back, reaching for black stick that was emitting that icy, blue light. He handed it to Charlie, “Here give us some light over here, son.”

“Daddy...what should I do next?” Billy was asking, tugging on the edge of their father’s brown cloak impatiently.

“Ahh well Billy...why don’t you turn to the page on wiring the motor...that’s a boy…” Charlie leaned forward, aiming the flashlight like his Daddy had shown him. 

Daddy bent low to the bench and was pulling things out from the depths of the turntable machine, and was poking and prodding them with his wand every so often. Every once in a while he’d mutter something like,  _ “Interesting…” _ or  _ “Most ingenious…” _

Charlie knew the word interesting, but he didn’t know what ingenious meant. But he recognized it from the many times his father used it when talking about Muggle things. He supposed Muggles  _ were _ ingenious, if Daddy said so.

“Charlie, come in a bit closer here,” Daddy instructed, gesturing for him to aim the light from above the device. “Good boy, thank you.” Daddy paused and then looked over at Billy. “Now Billy...what does it say about the motor?” 

Billy went on reading from the book in a monotone voice. Charlie wasn’t really listening. He was just glad to finally be in here. For once he could do something Billy could. And he didn’t have to wait with the babies.


	4. Bill (1982)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this is a realistic view into the mind of an eleven (almost twelve) year old. Also, these chapters are getting longer for some reason (guess I can’t stop brain dumping). So I suppose I can no longer consider these things drabbles, haha. 

The sun was cresting just over the peak of the hill that faced the back of The Burrow. Several shades of orange and red painted the sky. Bill watched the change happen with a steaming mug of coffee in between his palms. 

He preferred the jolt that coffee provided over the sleepy, soothing effects of tea. An opinion that scandalized his mother, and earned him a quirked brow from his father. They believed him to be too young to have a taste for coffee. But he believed when you had six younger siblings wailing, stomping, banging, and chattering at all hours of the day, a little something extra was needed to get on with things.

He sat on a lawn chair next to the broom shed, basking in the calm before the chaos erupted. That was the trouble with having so many siblings. Quiet moments were rarer than catching a unicorn. And sometimes Bill just wanted a slice of quiet to think. Especially now with his school supplies packed away in his truck. He might’ve been well equipped for his first year at Hogwarts, but he felt largely under prepared. 

What if he wasn’t a Gryffindor like his parents? What if his magical abilities were dreadful? What if he didn’t impress them? Would they think it a waste to buy him all the things he needed?

He heard Mum arguing with Dad just a few nights ago when they believed he was asleep. 

_ “What do you want me to do Molly? I don’t set the school list. He couldn’t very well go empty handed, now could he?” _

_ “All  _ **new things** _ though! Did you really have to-” _

_ “Molly. It’s. Fine. It will be-” _

_ “It’s all fine  _ **now,** _ Arthur. But what about when Charlie starts? And then we’ll have to worry about Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny! Five of them all at once! Shouldn’t I go back to work? At least half time? Wouldn’t that-?” _

_ “I can’t ask Mum to watch six kids now, Molls. She’s getting on in years.” _

_ “Well, we need some sort of plan, don’t we? Because what you’re doing isn’t enough! And it’s not-” _

_“Right. Thanks for_ **that** _reminder.”_

_“Oh you_ **know** _I didn’t mean it like that! I just-”_

Suddenly their voices were smothered by a gurgling noise that sounded like they were speaking underwater. Bill knew one of them had placed some type of muffling charm at the bottom of the staircase to prevent their voices carrying up the twisted staircase. Realizing he wouldn’t learn the conclusion to their argument, he retreated to his room with a heavy heart. 

It was at that moment he realized he had to do well. He had to make his parents proud. Maybe if they were proud of his achievements, they wouldn’t be able to bicker about all his new school things that Dad insisted upon. Yes, that’s what he would do. He would open up a spell book every chance he had and read through everything until his eyes went crossed and his mind was a jumbled mess of spells. He would stay up late writing essays and practicing spells until his hand cramped from overuse. He would be extra careful with his things, so Charlie could use them too. They wouldn’t have to worry so much then. They wouldn’t feel the need to argue about this again. And he wouldn’t have to feel as guilty anymore. 

As Bill thought about his parents now, it was his mother who suddenly manifested in the kitchen. He heard from the open window the familiar bang and ping of her pulling down a metal skillet from one of the cupboards. Then there was a low hiss and sizzle that was soon followed by the smell of cooking breakfast meat. 

He wondered if anyone else was awake. Ginny woke up half the house nearly two hours ago, and between her piercing wails and Charlie’s deep snores beside him, Bill found falling asleep again an impossible prospect. He wondered if Charlie was snoring so loudly on purpose. It seemed Charlie would do anything to make him mad these days. 

It all started when Bill returned from Diagon Alley with Dad a week ago. He’d been allowed to show Charlie his wand (nine and a half inches, yew, with a unicorn hair core) before Dad would lock it away in his trunk for safekeeping. And he simply couldn’t wait to see Charlie’s face light up in amazement whenever he showed him. He  _ finally _ had a wand, just like Mum and Dad! He was a proper wizard now, just like they always dreamed of!

But all Charlie did was glance up at it casually, and shrug, “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Bill frowned at his younger brother, feeling his heart sink into his stomach. Wordlessly, he left Charlie to play with his animated dragon and knight figurines, keeping his gaze anywhere but at his father’s face whenever he handed his wand back.

From that moment on, it seemed like Charlie much preferred chasing Fred and George in the garden than he did hanging around Bill. Little Ronnie of course gravitated towards this fun, although he was still a bit wobbly on his feet and spent more time sitting in the dirt than running with his big brothers. But even when they grew tired, the four of them would be digging and poking about, sometimes helping Mum gather veggies and fruits, other times just messing with the gnomes and fairies that lived there. Thinking of all the fun they were having without him made Bill’s jaw clench.

Charlie had been  _ his _ brother first. And before any of the rest of them came, the two of them were the best of mates. They’d done everything together, including sharing a bedroom. And now, it felt like Charlie liked Fred, George, and Ronnie more than him. This made room for Percy to cling to him. While Bill didn’t mind reading his school books with Percy looking over his shoulder posing questions every now and again, it just wasn’t the same as hanging out with Charlie. 

It stung when Bill thought about it. He took a long sip of coffee, blinking fiercely. He wouldn’t cry about it. That would be stupid. Charlie would never let him hear the end of it if he discovered that Bill was upset enough to...

“All right Billy?”

Bill jumped and sputtered out coffee with his Dad’s sudden appearance. He coughed as the warm liquid burned through his nose and the back of his throat. 

“Sorry,” Dad chortled, patting him on the shoulder. With a flourish of his wand, he dried the front of Bill’s t-shirt and pajama bottoms. 

Bill relaxed back in his seat, wiping at his face with the back of his hand as though pretending to wipe sleep from his heavy eyelids. When he sorted out those feelings of jealousy and hurt, he glanced over at his father. Dad was conjuring a lounge chair beside him that had a wooden frame and red canvas fabric for a seat. There was even a matching red pouf for him to prop his feet on.

Long ago Bill would have gaped at such skill. But he’d grown so accustomed to his Dad’s ability with such spells that he merely studied the chair quietly. 

Dad sank down beside him, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand as well, and asked again, “You alright, Billy?”

Rolling his eyes, he groaned a bit, “Dad...it’s  _ Bill  _ now.” 

Dad flashed a smile, murmuring with a raised brow, “Right, sorry.”

He bit back his annoyance. Mum and Dad were always forgetting that Billy was a baby name. And didn’t they have enough babies to look after? 

“Did Mum send you out here?” He asked suddenly, feeling as though perhaps she might have spied him out here all along and asked Dad to check up on him. She tended to worry both up close and at a distance. 

“No,” Dad brought his hands up while explaining lightly. “Just fancied some air before the rest of you lot started bouncing off the walls.”

Bill caught the hum of laughter in his father’s words before he slurped his coffee, and he felt his lips twitch in quiet reply. 

Dad was always good for teasing them. It wasn’t a mean sort of teasing, but a funny sort. Bill hoped he could be like that one day; quick with a word when people least expected it.

For several minutes they sat in companionable silence. The sun rose higher, the reds and oranges bleeding together to create a brilliant golden yellow as the warm rays touched their faces. Birds fluttered about, chirping merrily. 

Dad spoke again, his tone more observational, “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. I wanted to think. It’s hard with everyone awake,” Bill admitted, taking another sip from his mug. 

Dad chuckled knowingly, “Ah yes. I expect you’ll be looking forward to shipping out to school. Loads of time to think then.”

The sheer mention of Hogwarts made his stomach tense up again. The words relented inside his head. He would be brilliant. They wouldn’t argue anymore. 

Bill inhaled and nodded, staring into his mug, “Yeah, I suppose.”

“Don’t sound  _ too _ excited now,” Dad teased, reaching over to nudge him in the shoulder. “It’ll be good to have some time all to yourself, yeah?”

“Yeahh...” Bill drew out the word slowly and uncertainly. He took another sip of lukewarm coffee and then probed suddenly, “Dad? What if...what if I’m no good?”

Perhaps if he heard that this didn’t matter so much, the tightness in his stomach would disappear. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to be  _ so _ brilliant. Perhaps he didn’t have to worry about them arguing  _ too _ much.

“Ahh…” He exhaled, pausing thoughtfully before adding, “...everyone feels that way at first. It’s hard work, but you’re a smart lad, Billy-sorry  _ Bill _ .”

This didn’t alleviate the knot in his gut. It was hard to believe that Dad ever felt this way. He could do magic so effortlessly. And what did Bill ever do? Levitate a few tapers above the dinner table? Accidentally break through the protective charms that ran around the perimeter of the house when Charlie, Percy, and him were playing touch and go? What were those things anyway when compared to drying off clothes or conjuring chairs?

The words echoed in his mind again. He would be brilliant. They wouldn’t argue anymore.

“Was it hard for you?” He wondered hopefully. 

“Oh sure. Especially in the beginning. But if  _ I _ can manage it,  _ you _ surely can.” He offered a wink and a grin trying to set Bill at ease.

He supposed Dad was an honest man, who really had no reason to lie to him. Maybe he ought to start believing in his Dad’s words.

Chewing on his bottom lip he asked, this time his voice less certain, “Think...d’ye think...Charlie...he’ll be alright? Yeah?”

Nodding, Dad replied easily, “Course he will.”

“He hates me now.”

Bill wasn’t sure what made him say the words, but they spilled out before he could take them back again. His face was growing hot as he waited for Dad to remark on this, and he kept his gaze down, studying the daisies painted on his white mug.

“Nahh he doesn’t,” Dad told him with a softness in his words, almost like he was going to tell Bill a secret. Leaning closer he added, “He’s just gonna miss you is all.”

“I dunno,” Bill shrugged. “Seems like he’ll be fine with the others.”

“Only because he has to be,” Dad told him. Shifting in his chair so that he was now sitting forward until his elbows rested on top of his knees, he turned towards Bill and captured his eye. “I’ll bet, if you asked him to have a lad’s night in your room like you used to, he’d be chuffed.”

Bill half smiled, and wrinkled his nose simultaneously. He didn’t quite believe it, but he supposed it was worth a try.

* * *

Later that night as they were lying in separate beds, Bill dared to whisper, “Charlie? You awake?”

“Yeah!” Charlie’s mattress creaked as he rolled over eagerly to the center of their room. 

Feeling his heart beat faster than normal, Bill fiddled with the holes in the crocheted blanket that stretched across his body.  _ Just ask him, you numpty _ , he thought to himself. 

“Want to build a dragon’s lair?” He asked in a single breath, bracing himself for the rejection that was likely to follow. 

“Yes!” Charlie hissed excitedly, his two feet hitting the floor of their cramped bedroom almost immediately.

Relief washed through Bill like waves across a sandy beach. Charlie didn’t hate him after all. In fact, as they stripped the blankets off their beds and set to work at building the lair, it felt like how things were before Bill got his wand. Before he realized how brilliant he’d have to be. Before he’d have to be troubled by Mum and Dad arguing.

Charlie spread his down filled duvet out on the floor between their beds. He then moved to the toy chest beneath the window where their toy castle rested on top. It was half the height of him, but Bill knew it was light. He placed it in the center of the duvet while Bill worked on impaling his knit blanket through the spindly ends of their bedposts at the foot of their beds. Charlie took the other end of the blanket once he was finished, draping the middle of it over the castle, which would serve as the support beam in the middle of their crude construction. 

Bill then padded over to the blanket that hung on the back of their door. It was the black one with the brilliantly colored flowers that Mum made before any of them were born. He thought he saw it downstairs earlier, but Charlie must’ve nicked it for some unknown reason. They often found it migrated from room to room with little explanation.

As Bill set to draping this blanket over their top bed posts, Charlie grabbed the glo-globe that was radiating light from the small table by his bed and stuck it in one of turret’s of the toy castle. Both boys then crouched down beneath the blanket canopy as Bill expertly joined the two knit blankets together. 

Charlie crawled out from beneath the makeshift dragon’s lair, returning seconds later with both their pillows. Once Bill placed the finishing touches on the tent, Bill carefully laid back beside Charlie, and held his breath to see if it would hold. Sometimes the blankets caved in on them. But after several years of building dragon’s lairs, they found the castle could often support the weight of the blankets while giving them enough space to crawl on their bellies below.

After several seconds they discovered it held, and they stared up at the patterns from the blanket the light reflected in all directions.

“Cool idea, Charlie,” Bill complimented lightly, folding his hands together across his middle. 

Turning his head on his pillow, Charlie remarked curiously, “It was yours.”

“I mean with the blanket,” Bill nodded towards the ceiling of their dragon’s lair. “Looks like we’re looking up at Mum’s tickling chrysanthemum’s.” He commented, thinking about the large bush of lilac colored flowers that his mother planted at the front of the house. It would reach out and tickle you if you walked close enough to it and were in a particularly sullen mood. 

He heard Charlie’s head turn until he was staring back up at the light display. “Yeah if they could fly,” He decided in a quiet voice. 

“Yeah,” Bill added softly. “It’s cool.”

“Thanks Billy.”

Turning his face towards Charlie’s he opened his mouth to correct his brother, but when Charlie glanced back at him with that crooked smile, he decided against it. 

After several seconds, they both turned their gazes back towards the illuminated patterns floating in front of them. Bill slowly felt his eyelids grow heavy, the aura of the bedroom light lulling him off to sleep. And then…

“Billy?”

His eyes snapped open and he glanced over to find Charlie’s light brown eyes peering back at him, “Yeah?”

Chewing on his bottom lip Charlie probed hesitantly, “You’ll still come home at Christmas, right?”

“Course I will,” Bill frowned, curious as to why his brother was asking this sort of question. Christmas anywhere outside of The Burow, seemed impossible.

Charlie nodded, and turned his face skyward once more. “That’s…one hundred and nineteen days away,” He remarked in a somewhat casual manner. 

Bill snorted at this, realizing Charlie was keeping a running count. “Really Charl? You...you counted out the days? Wouldn't months be easier?”

“I was teaching Fred and George to count on Mum’s calendar,” He replied immediately, but Bill heard a tinge of defensiveness in his words. Trying to mask it, Charlie went on, “Percy thinks I’m wrong. He says the term ends on December 16th. So he thinks it’s...uhm...” His voice trailed off, and Bill caught him muttering to himself, “...what was it?”

“One hundred and ten days,” Bill supplied, looking back up at the patterns that twirled across the ceiling from the swirling dust inside the glo-globe. “He’s right you know, it’s not as long as you’re thinking.” 

“Oh. Well...he is better at maths than me so maybe he is right.”

“Be nice to Percy,” Bill told him suddenly.

Charlie sighed heavily, “I’m always nice to him.”

Bill suppressed the urge to remind his brother that he often joined in on whatever mischievous deed the twins cooked up. Never mind that he was nine, nearly ten and they were four. And the intended target was often Percy.

“Be extra nice to him. I won’t be here and…” He paused, unsure of what to say next precisely. 

“And what?”

Then it dawned on him. Bill rolled over on his side, and told Charlie solemnly, “And you’re the big brother when I’m gone. Which means you can’t take sides.”

Looking down between them, Charlie’s mouth twitched as he replied, “Right.”

“And help Mum when you can,” He added thoughtfully. “Dad does his best but...he’s not always here.”

“Ok,” Charlie nodded.

They descended into silence again, sleep slowly seeping through the confines of their dragon’s lair. Bill punched his pillow until it was comfortable. Charlie flopped over onto his stomach, facing the other direction. 

With all the uncertainties that plagued Bill’s mind about Hogwarts, at least he could be sure that things with Charlie remained the same. Leaning forward, he tapped the round, glass of the glo-globe, extinguishing the light in their bedroom.


	5. Ron (1982)

Ron rose up on the balls of his feet, his tiny toes crunching beneath the weight of his body as he tried to squint through the smudged, round window in his bedroom. His elbows found the edge of the windowsill, and he hoisted himself upward until his legs dangled in midair. The cold from the sill seeped into the sleeves of his worn out pajamas, sinking deep into his bones. But he didn’t care. He was trying to see where the shouts and cries full of laughter came from below, excitement flooding his system. 

He watched Bill and Charlie gather up fists full of snow, pack them into balls and then shoot them at one another from across either end of the garden. They darted two and fro, their woolen cloaks swirling about them like Mum’s enchanted pinwheels that stuck out of the garden wall. 

This visual reminded him of the game Ginny and him made up before Bill and Charlie had returned home. Ginny had the idea for using the pinwheels for footholds, holding onto the ivy and lavender overgrowth that covered the outside of the garden wall. She then released her hold on the foliage and the momentum of the pinwheels' infinite circular motion propelled both of them over the top of the crumbling garden wall. Of course this plan wasn’t well thought out because Mum caught them after the third or fourth attempt when she happened to glance out the kitchen window. She nearly pulled Ron’s ear off his head as she dragged him into the house from the garden. 

_“Your sister is just a baby!”_

_“But Mum, it was_ her _idea!”_

_“I seriously doubt that, Ronald.”_

Ginny’s scrunched up expression peeking out from behind his mother’s leg stuck in his mind for hours after that. He swore he’d get her back. But when the twins recruited them to play a game of Sizzling Snap (a more child friendly version of Exploding Snap), all seemed to be forgiven and forgotten. Particularly when Ron found himself to be the victor. 

A whooping sound from the garden made Ron refocus on the scene below. The twins had thrown themselves on top of Bill, and he fell to the ground. Charlie tossed a snowball over at Percy who was perched on the top of the wall with a book splayed open in his lap; it hit him on the cheek. He flinched and swiftly brushed away the fragments of snow. It looked like he might go back to reading whenever Charlie pulled him down off the wall, the book falling onto the snowy white grounds. 

“Come on Percy! Join us!” Ron heard Charlie cry out.

Ron expected Percy to put up a fight, but from his crouched position on the lawn, he scooped up a handful of snow, and swiftly retaliated. A white mass hit Charlie between the shoulder blades and he whirled around with a daring grin. 

“Whoo Percy!” Bill whooped.

The twins abandoned their efforts in wrestling around with Bill in the snow and then charged towards Percy. They dragged their hands across the snowy grounds, collecting enough to make a ball as they went. 

Charlie was busy forming another snowball, his sights set on Percy as well. But the twins surprised everyone by swiftly changing course, each of them pressing their own into Percy’s hands.

“Get ‘em Perce!”

“Hurry before Charlie…!”

Bill suddenly hurled one ball and then another at the unsuspecting twins. But Percy gave as good as his older brothers, shooting one at Charlie (who managed to duck) and then stooping low to avoid one Charlie tossed back in return before pretending to throw one at Bill, only to aim at Charlie in the last instance.

“Yes!” Ron cheered, banging his tiny fist on the window ledge. 

In all the excitement he forgot about the dry tickle at the back of his throat that went from a little _peh_ sound before growing into wracking coughs that made his throat burn and his breath rattle against his lungs. A shiver coursed through him, reminding him why he wasn’t outside with his brothers.

He heard the creak and groan of floorboards from outside his bedroom. It was a sure sign that someone was coming up the twisted staircase to check on him (Mum probably, Daddy was at work as far as he knew). A sort of panic filled him and he tried to sneak back into bed undetected. The wooden boards in the attic, strained with the pitter patter of his feet, likely gave him away. He dove onto the bed, the springs in the mattress screeching as he tried to settle down and rearrange the many layers of blankets stacked on top of it before he was discovered. He lay back, his heart racing as he waited for the familiar squeal of his bedroom door to open.

His mother appeared on the other side, and his eyelids immediately shut. He tried to calm his breathing, but holding his breath only made him fall into another fit of coughs. 

“Ronald,” Mum cocked her head to the side, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

Feigning his best sleepy tone of voice, he replied while fluttering his eyes open, “I was Muma. I was.”

“Mhm.” She padded forward into his room, touching the back of her hand to his forehead before flipping her hand over so that her palm rested at his cheek. “Ronald, you’re freezing!” She gushed a bit frantically, pulling up the old, knit blanket around him, tucking it beneath his upper body. Perching on the edge of his mattress, she smiled knowingly and smoothed over the top of his hair, “You need to stay in bed.”

That’s all he heard for the last five days. _You need to stay in bed. You need rest. You need anything that isn’t fun._

He was tired of hearing it. He was tired of coughing until his throat rubbed raw or his chest ached. He wanted it to be over and done with. And up until now, he hadn’t said a single word on the matter. Well, not anymore. 

“It’s not fair!” He whined, folding his arms in front of him, disrupting the carefully tucked in edges of the blanket. “I want to play! Why can’t I…?!” As if to serve a point, his hacking cough returned. 

Ron felt Muma’s hand rub his back while he leaned forward and went on coughing. It hurt so badly, he could cry. But he didn’t want to cry. He already had done that and Charlie called him a baby. He wasn’t a baby, not anymore. Ginny was the baby now. 

“Easy now, darling,” Muma crooned softly, easing him back down on the mass of pillows. She pulled the colorful blanket up over his body again, retucking the edges around him. “Why don’t see about that temperature of yours again, hmm?”

She reached into the front of her daisy printed house coat, prompting him to groan and turn away from her, “You’re not going to use Daddy’s dermometer are you?”

“Thermometer,” She corrected lightly. He felt a firm yet comforting hand at his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. “Come on now Ronniekins, the sooner we check it, the sooner we can make it all better.”

His mouth drooped into a dramatic frown, but he begrudgingly opened it up for her to insert the device. 

“There’s a good boy,” Muma applauded, brushing her thumb along the sharp curve of his cheek. “You know I don’t put as much stock in Muggle contraptions as your father does, but this is a rather handy device,” She went on as they waited. “Not as terrible tasting as our potions, hmm?”

Ron shrugged. He supposed Muma was right about that. But he still didn’t like the cool, metal stick situated beneath his tongue. It poked and prodded him uncomfortably, making him want to cough again.

The black blanket with starburst flowers knit across it was situated at his shoulders, but feeling a slight shiver, Ron brought it up to his neck. The rough woolen fibers tickled his cheek, and he inhaled a dusty sort of smell from it. It was a worn out old thing, like his pajamas that once were Percy’s. But it was what Muma called the sick blanket. She swore that because it had been made with love, care, and attention to detail, there was something about it that made whomever was wrapped up in it feel better. Ron didn’t believe that though. He’d been sleeping beneath the blanket for five days now and he was still sick. There was nothing magical about this blanket. It was just another overused item that was passed about their family. 

After several seconds, Muma pulled the thermometer from his mouth, examining the red line that shot up to a certain point. “Hmmm…” She intoned thoughtfully.

“Am I better?” Ron wondered hopefully.

Glancing up at him, Muma smiled weakly. She lightly touched his cheek again and informed him, “Nothing a bit of broth and a nice, long nap can’t fix, darling.”

“I don’t want to nap!” He protested gruffly, “I want to play with Bill and Charlie!”

“I know darling, I know,” Muma sighed deeply. “If you feel better after your nap then we’ll see about them playing with you later, alright?” 

Ron sunk lower beneath the covers, turning his face towards his bedroom wall. It wasn’t fair. Bill and Charlie would be gone again. And he would miss spending time with them. He was always missing things with them. Suddenly, he felt angry at Percy, Fred, and George for being able to play in the snow with their big brothers. They always got to do fun things with Bill and Charlie. He was always stuck playing with Ginny. And while she wasn’t so bad to play with, her ideas often led them to trouble. And he was the one blamed for them when Muma found out. 

Muma leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Get some rest darling. I’ll be back with your broth in a little while.”

He felt the mattress shift again as Muma stood to leave. And he nuzzled his cheek against the scratchy fibers of the heavy blanket that wrapped around him. This section of it smelled like oranges. Oranges reminded him of Muma and Daddy and Sunday breakfast when they squeezed them into fresh juice. It was curious considering the other side of it smelled musty. Maybe the blanket was magical like Muma said after all. 

“Muma?” He called out suddenly, rolling over to catch her with her hand on the door handle. 

“Yes darling?” She whirled back around, waiting for him to say more.

He stammered out the question, “Will you...will you...read me a story?”

A smile crossed his face, and she relented with a nod. “Alright darling. What do we have up here?” She wondered, moving to the pile of books stacked unevenly on his bedside table. 

He propped himself up on his forearm, asking excitedly, “Can you do the trolls in the cave one?” 

“Ahhh...Finney and the Sea Cavern,” She replied knowingly while pulling a tattered book of nursery tales from the bottom of the pile. “That’s always a good one,” She added before settling on the edge of the bed. 

Ron scooted backwards, so she could sit more comfortably on the bed. Muma flicked through the pages of the book before settling on the story in question. He then moved in closer until his head rested against her soft side, and Muma draped an arm around his shoulders while she began to read. 

“There once was a lad named Finney who lived in a poor village in the Kingdom of Ramar. The people in Finney’s village were largely happy. For while poor they might be, they had an ancient, magical artifact that offered them protection. It was a magical club, once belonging to the troll, Drefus.”

Ron found himself stifling a jaw cracking yawn, but his mother didn’t seem to notice as she continued reading.

“Drefus, guarded the village many years ago. And when he died, he gifted Finney’s people with his club as a way to keep them safe. The villagers kept this club hidden away from outsiders so that...”

As Ron grew steadily warmer against his mother’s side, as her soft yet distinguished voice kept reading about Finney and the village and Drefus, he felt himself slowly slip away to sleep. 

He yawned, pressing his cheek more firmly against his mother, who paused in her reading long enough for him to murmur, “Don’t stop yet Muma.”

She pressed a quick kiss at the top of his head, and he felt her cheek against his hair as she read on more quietly now, “...the King’s men were furious to learn that…”

His eyes felt heavier now. He would just rest his eyes for a moment. Then he could play with Bill and Charlie. Ron brought the blanket up above his face as he listened to his mother’s voice grow further and further away.

Thoughts of snowball fights, trolls, and a poor yet happy village swirled through his mind as he gave into the comfort of sleep.


	6. George (1987)

A stream of water and bubbles shot from the end of Mum’s wand, effectively filling the kitchen sink. Her crimson hair that was normally piled messily atop her head in a round blossom wilted across the back of her head. 

The four of them tucked in around the long table, a chair in between each of them. They weren’t used to the extra space that was often in short supply at home. But with three of them now gone to Hogwarts and Dad putting in what felt like a million hours of work a week, it was often just the five of them seated at the table now. Well four of them seated. Mum usually didn’t bother sitting among them. She preferred to nibble on a corner of bread or a piece of chicken while cleaning a surface or sweeping the floor around them while they (mostly Ron) dropped bits of food onto the floor.

George sat closest to Mum, watching her pocket her wand in the front of her lavender housecoat before letting out a long breath. Her hand came up to the back of her neck, fingers kneading into some unseen thing. 

“Mum?” He wondered in between spoonfuls of soup. 

She turned around, her pale red brows lifting expectantly as she replied with a weary smile, “Yes dear?”

For once in his life, his swift mind drew a blank and his sharp witted tongue softened. Something was slightly off with Mum. Her face was paler than usual, the light that usually reflected from her warm, brown eyes had gone out. George may have suggested she looked peaky if he was certain it wouldn’t earn him a sharp look and a stern word. 

Things were tense today. Ever since the incident with The Floo that morning. An incident Fred and him had been wholly blamed for, but not necessarily wholly responsible for. It had been Dad’s idea, after all. Well, sort of. He gave them the idea weeks ago. It was only recently that the effects of the idea became common knowledge in the Weasley household. 

_Dad stared ahead at the mirror that levitated above the fireplace mantle. He smoothed back his hair and tugged at the front of his long green robes. “Someone should create a new formula for Floo Powder. Something that dispels soot from your clothing once you arrive. Half of us look like chimney sweeps whenever we get there.”_

_Grabbing him by the shoulders to turn him towards her, Mum straightened his paisley, purple bow tie for him and teased, “Are you going to come up with something then, dear?”_

_“I may,” He rejoined with a twist of a smile that usually signaled Mum and Dad were about to get all soppy with each other._

_Whenever he looked away, George saw Fred staring at him and then nodding over at Mum and Dad. He mouthed, ‘Floo powder, brilliant!’ before punching George several times in the arm as if he couldn’t already read his brother's lips and gather what he meant by those words._

Ever since Bill, Charlie, and Percy left for school, their creativity had run dry. But Dad gave them new found inspiration with this casual complaint. Of course, there would be a lot of trial and error as they worked to find a solution to this problem. 

They started small by adding bits of crushed rosemary. It had cleansing properties according to _The Greenagerie_ ; one of Mum’s go to reference books for domestic spells. But when Dad reappeared still dusty with soot on the return trip home, they switched to lemon balm, which according to the book, was a water element. Fred thought maybe that would help wash things out of Dad’s clothes. But again, Dad came back looking dirty as ever, and then they really had to start getting creative. 

_“We’re just not thinking big enough Georgie!” Fred exclaimed, his eyes widening as he began thumbing through another household spellbook, having cast The Greenagerie aside._

Then they thought maybe altering the color of the soot might help, so they took Mum’s shimmering purple eye powder and sprinkled it in along with the other herbs and some pepper. Maybe inducing a sneeze would somehow help as well.

_Dad automatically took a handful from the chipped flower pot without looking. And then after he shouted his destination, absolutely nothing happened. Except he got a faceful of glittering, purple powder and pepper._

_His sputtering coughs soon turned into laughter that had the twins snickering behind their hands._

_George looked up at Mum, hopeful she might be trying to hide her amusement. Generally when Dad laughed like that, it was almost impossible for Mum to resist being entertained. Making Mum laugh was the end goal of a lot of their pranks. They figured she could use a laugh. And no one else would dare to deliver one to her but Fred and him. But George felt panic wash through him when he saw the look on their mother’s face._

_Her eyes flashed fiercely. Her mouth was fused shut and her jaw clenched tightly. Folding her arms in front of her, she took in a long breath and held it there. Her focus was fixed on Dad, who patted them both on the shoulders, congratulating them for being so cleverly amusing. As George felt him doing so, he wished Dad wouldn’t._

_“Molly,” Arthur exhaled with a broad smile, taking her into his arms._

_Her arms were still crossed in front of her chest, and she slowly shook her head at him. He tilted his head to one side and cracked a smile. Dad must have said something that George couldn’t hear because she snorted and rolled her eyes, seizing the front of his robes._

_“You look ridiculous,” She insisted lowly before Dad was bending down and kissing her._

_George felt his stomach tighten and he looked away. Fred made a gagging sound beside him, vocalizing how he felt seeing his parents like that._

_Their mouths broke apart then and George felt Mum shoot a stern look over at them and heard her grumbled, “I’ll deal with you two later.”_

_The spell Dad cast over Mum’s bad mood was only temporary. George knew the moment he left it would lift, and she’d go back to barking at them angrily._

_“I’ll ask Anastasy for the latest Ministry discount,” Dad told her softly, rubbing her arm._

_She nodded and replied evenly, “You better clean up. Don’t want to be late, do you?”_

_“Hmm…” He kissed her cheek and then leaned forward until his hands were on his knees and his eyes level with the both of them, “Boys...while that was rather amusing, it was_ very wasteful _to sully_ all _of the Floo powder.”_

_George looked down and he replied in near unison with his brother, “Yes Dad.”_

_“Now...do as your mother says today,” George’s eyes flitted upward, long enough to catch Dad’s raised brow. It was his “serious” look._

_Both him and Fred nodded their heads and answered dutifully, “Yes Dad.”_

_“Good,” He ruffled the hair on their heads, provoking sounds of protests from them both._

_And then they were left with Mum staring down at them with her hands on her hips. George braced himself for the punishment that was to come._

_“Extra chores today for you two,” Was all she said before turning to leave the room._

_“Aww Mum!” Fred whined, and George trod on his foot, urging him to shut up for once._

_Mum whirled around, rounding on them both, “Be grateful that’s all it is! I ought to take a gift out of your Christmas fund to cover the cost of all the Floo Powder you ruined. We won’t be able to go anywhere until your father replaces it.”_

And so the rest of their day had been spent washing up everyone’s bed sheets, straightening up their room and their absent brothers rooms (although they could lounge in Percy’s pretending to straighten up for the better part of a half hour with how tidy it was). Then they were tasked with dusting the steps, sanding the staircase railing, pulling weeds out of the garden wall, and peeling potatoes for the soup. All the while Ginny and Ron lazed about playing round after round of Exploding Snap.

“Do you need something Georgie?” Mum asked a bit breathlessly, bringing him back to the present moment. She cocked her head to one side and her hands gripped the back of the chair at the head of the table; a seat reserved for Dad. He noticed her knuckles were white, her mouth turning down into a slight frown.

Perhaps she missed Dad. He knew he did. Fred too. 

Shaking his head slowly, he looked down in his soup once more, “No Mum. Sorry.”

He couldn’t put into words how he really felt. Fred would never let him hear the end of it for _being soft_. Ronny and Gin would echo this too. Even though he knew Fred felt the same as him, to share that with the rest of the family would be some sort of betrayal. They never spoke about it, but some things didn’t need to be spoken as far as they were concerned. They just knew these things about one another and that was enough. So George firmly kept his mouth shut and went on stirring the broth in his bowl. 

“Right,” Mum exhaled again, her eyes surveying the table. “Anyone else need anything?” Her tone bordered on hopeful that no one would make any special requests. 

“Moor bread ‘um?” Ron asked while chewing on a potato. He lifted the empty plate that once held half a dozen dinner rolls; at least three of which he alone was responsible for devouring. 

Mum took in a long breath, her eyes fluttering shut. How dense Ron could be at times, George thought. Based on Mum’s reaction to this, George knew this meant they only had a few seconds before something happened in response to his younger brother’s question. _Might as well_ be _that something_ , he thought. 

He glanced over at Fred. Their light brown eyes locked onto one another’s before skirting off to the half eaten roll that resided to the right of Fred’s soup bowl. George inclined his head before jerking it over towards Ron. His mouth curled into a crooked smile and he thought, _Well give it to him, Freddie._

Swallowing his mouthful of soup, Fred flashed a quick smirk. He tossed the roll up in the air before catching it in his open palm. “Oi! Ronniekins!” He called out with a challenging edge to his tone, prompting three other heads to turn to him, “Catch!”

“No!” Mum cried out half a second too late. 

The roll soared into the air in a graceful arc, but Ron misjudged its trajectory (either that or Fred’s aim was off from using his left hand and not his right). Instead of what should have been an easy catch, was a spectacular miss. The bowl tipped swiftly from the hit and from Ron jumping, spilling its contents all over the table and dripping onto the floor. 

“Fred!” Mum groaned, her fists balling up at her sides.

“What?! He asked for more bread?!” Fred tossed his hands up, offering a sheepish grin before furrowing his brow and glaring at George. It was a look of: _Nice going, you knob_.

George shrugged in response with a raised brow. He then piped up decidedly, “Yeah, we couldn’t let him starve Mum! Especially not after he packed away _three_ _himself._ ” He looked over at Ron with a pointed expression. 

What a greedy goblin his little brother was. He often took and received certain liberties as a result of being one of younger ones. But George (and Fred) had long stopped vocalizing _the fairness_ of this. What was fair was relative, all things considered in the hierarchy of their family. Fred and him decided long ago they’d never ask for special treatment. They’d specially treat themselves with whatever they could, whenever they could. 

Ron opened his indignant mouth, both hands clutching the soggy bit of dinner roll protectively. Ginny merely snickered at this exchange, encouraging a wink from George. 

“You two…” Mum began sharply, although it looked as though it pained her, “...you clean this up. _And_ the rest of the dishes.” She sighed, her hand coming up to the back of her neck again as she murmured, “I need a bit of a lie down.” 

“But Mum!” Fred protested indignantly, George cleared his throat and kicked the chair situated between them. When Fred’s gaze found him once more, he shook his head and then amended, “Yeah, ok, sorry, Mum.”

Mum squeezed George on the shoulder before shuffling past and doing the same with Fred. It felt like a grateful sort of touch, which left a ripple of worry inside George. She disappeared upstairs while they finished their meal quietly. 

“Right,” Ron hopped down from his chair, “Ginny, want to play in the garden?”

“Kay,” She replied with a clink of her spoon hitting the dish before she too was disappearing out of the room. 

Stretching back in his seat dramatically as his chair shrieked against the floor in protest, Fred grumbled, “What a load of rubbish it is to be the _big brother_.”

George scoffed similarly, “I know. Percy made it sound _glorious_. Pretty sure he even used that word.”

He began collecting dishes from the table whenever Fred told him, “He probably practiced that speech for days before he left us.”

George laughed softly at this before grabbing a dry towel from the counter and mopping up the spilled soup. Fred dumped the collection of dirty dishes into the soapy water with an audible plop. 

While they worked, George recalled bits and pieces of Percy’s near ten minute speech (he had timed it) about what it meant to be the big brother of the house. It was all about responsibility and being fair and watching after Ron and Ginny. Especially Ginny, because girls needed more looking after than boys. But really, George wondered if Percy had actually met Ginny to know that she wasn’t like most girls. He didn’t argue the point though because clearly, this was important to Percy. And really, at least half listening to him was the least they could do for him. Well, the least he could do. It was pretty obvious Fred was intent on just adding colorful commentary that made George nearly bite through his bottom lip as he tried to hold back his laughter. 

The soup bowls were easy enough to wash out and place on the rack to dry, but the bowls and spoons with caked on porridge from breakfast appeared to be more of a challenge. George hadn’t realized that Mum left them the entire day’s worth of dishes until now. It wasn’t like her.

The kitchen sink was deceivingly deep. Their elbows disappeared into the watery depths before their fingers graced the bottom. Which is why they also had to trade off standing on the booster stool in order to be taller than the counter. 

After a particularly intense scrubbing session that caused soapy water to splash George in the eye, he whined with a tired sigh, “You know, Fred. I reckon Percy would have ideas about how to speed this process up.”

“He would,” Fred elbowed him until he stumbled off the stool. 

“Hey!” George argued, his expression turning cross. 

“I just had an idea!” Fred’s eyes lit up with that look that always promised a bit of fun. It made George want to hang onto his every word and be a part of whatever plan his brother cooked up in his mind.

George tossed him the soggy dish towel, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” Fred dropped the towel back on the counter, “...how difficult could a clean up spell be?” His grin spread across his face like wildfire, stirring a similar sort of look from George.

“Shouldn’t be too bad,” He agreed. And then another idea struck him, “Mum doesn’t always have to say the words and it works out just fine.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Fred agreed, slapping him on the shoulder. And then he extended an arm rather dramatically before crying out confidently, “ _Accio wand!_ ” 

Excitement fluttered inside of George’s chest and he cheered, “Summoning spell! Nice, Freddie!”

After several seconds, no wand appeared. Fred’s arm fell to his side and he grumbled in defeat. “Nice if it works! Come on,” He tossed the rag into George’s chest before picking up the dry towel. 

They were just about to resume whenever a sudden whooshing sound made both of them turn around to see their mother’s wand flying towards them. They both reached for it, but missed and swiped at the air in all of their eagerness before their heads cracked together rather sharply. 

“Ow!” George cried out, rubbing at his stinging forehead. 

“You git!” Fred returned before blindly trying to shove his brother. Another miss as George dodged his hand.

A definitive clunking and splashing sound suggested the wand bounced off the kitchen window and into the sink full of soapy, dirty dishes.

Both boys looked at one another and then there was a mad scramble towards the stool. Two sets of hands shoved into the sink as they bumped one another off the stools with a playful swing of their hips. 

“Georgie! _I_ called it!”

“It was _my_ idea!”

“No! It was _mine_!”

Water splashed out of the sink, down the front of the cabinets, and onto the floor as their fingers felt for a long piece of wood instead of the smooth metal the forks and spoons that floated about in the murky depths. George felt warm water slop against his jeans, water hitting his shoes as well. 

Suddenly his fingers curled around something rough and he pulled the wand up rather triumphantly at the same time Fred pulled a spoon out of the water.

“Ha!” George mocked, hopping back down from the stool. His brother may have summoned the wand, but he had it now. 

Fred huffed, dropping the spoon back down into the water. As he accepted his defeat, he gave his brother a serious look and he asked, “Think you can remember the word?”

“Erm...I think so?” He wasn’t so sure, but now wasn’t the time to doubt himself. Not whenever Fred looked disgruntled about not being the one to try the spell out. So George puffed out his chest and instructed with as much confidence as he could muster, “Take a plate, Fred.” 

His brother pulled one out of the sink and held it up in front of him. 

George cleared his throat and then pointed Mum’s wand at it. He said the word _scourgify_ in his mind a few times, lips wordlessly sounding it out. 

“Oh come on Georgie!” Fred groaned, stomping his foot impatiently.

“ _Scour-scourchify!_ ” George declared shakily.

But instead of water and soap, flames shot from the end of their mother’s wand.

Fred dropped the plate from his hands and dove behind the kitchen table. George jumped until he pointed the stream of flames upward, causing them to ricochet off one of the walls before catching fire to the drapes hanging above the sink. 

“Georgie! Drop it! Drop it!”

He heard his brother shouting and obeyed. The streak of fire dissipated from the end of the wand, but the window curtains that were printed with lemons, limes, and strawberries were curling as the fire licked them to death.

“What do we do?!” George spun around looking for Fred or for some other solution on how to stop the fire. He was met with nothing more but empty space. “Freddie!” 

Panic sparked up inside of him when he realized he was now alone. And he frantically searched for something to smother the flames. He tossed the soggy rag at the curtains, but it only temporarily stuck to the fiery curtain before falling back onto the counter.

The fire now spread over the top of the window where the shorter valence hung and was threatening to devour the other curtain panel as well. Smoke swirled about, invading George’s nostrils. He choked on the charred smell while backing away, knowing he had no choice now but to alert Mum. He was halfway out of the room whenever Fred rushed back into the kitchen, knocking him hard in the shoulder. He had the colorful knit blanket edged in black in his hands and darted forward to beat the curtains with it.

“Fred, come on!” George choked out, dodging some cinders that snowed off the fabric. 

The fire on the window coverings seemed to swirl about now, almost like it was taking on a life of its own with the blanket beating against it. And George watched as flames also seized hold of the blanket his twin had, the orange and yellow fire starting to spread across the bottom of it.

“Fred!” George called out, rushing towards his brother. “Drop it!” He wrenched the blanket away from him, throwing it towards the sink full of water. 

A crisp sizzling sound emitted as more wisps of smoke curled up from the kitchen sink. George seized his brother’s hand and began to pull him away from the fiery curtains. There was something mesmerizing about the fire to be sure, but he wasn’t about to die (or let Fred die) trying to determine what that something was.

They nearly passed the side door whenever it flew open with a bang.

“Dad!” They yawped simultaneously. George felt the color drain from his face. He didn’t know if this was better or worse than alerting Mum at present. 

“Boys!?” His eyes shot up from the pair of them to the blazing curtains above. He dashed forward, his arms waving madly while he ordered them, “Get away from there!” In a single motion, he brought out his wand and extinguished the flames eating at the curtains. 

When there was nothing more but clouds of smoke dancing through the air, Dad spun around seizing each of them by the shoulders and giving them a swift once over. “What in the bloody hell were you thinking?! And where is your mother?!” 

George offered simply, “Having a lie down.”

He heard his father sigh as though this pained him in some way. Then he nodded and glanced between them, “Right. So,” He gestured up at the window, “what happened here?”

George swiftly side eyed his brother, who was doing the same.

“No! No! Don’t look at one another. Look here,” He snapped his fingers in between both of them before pointing at himself. “What happened?” 

Dad rarely got angry. George wasn’t entirely sure that’s what he was at present. But there was a frantic quality in his voice and his expression that was a bit unsettling. He wanted to look at Fred for help, but the way Dad was searching both of their faces simultaneously, gave him the impression that he shouldn’t chance it. 

The silence in the room thickened. And it wasn’t until Dad’s solemn threat of, “Or should I wake your mother?” that Fred spoke up.

“We were just doing the dishes.”

“Just doing the dishes?” His brow arched in disbelief.

George bobbed his head, confirming this fact, “Honest Dad, we were.”

Dad exhaled deeply and then straightened up. Running his hand across his jaw, he muttered the phrase a few more times. “Just doing the dishes.” He turned around and surveyed the damage done to the corner of the kitchen. “Just doing the dishes…” He trailed off, stepping closer to the sink, “...and the drapes...just...caught on fire spontaneously?” He slowly faced them, one palm pressed against the counter, the other curled in the crook of his hip.

George knew there was no good way to answer that question. But he decided (and hoped Fred would too) that honesty was the best policy. If they blatantly lied about it their punishment would be worse.

So he began hesitantly, “Well we thought…”

“...there had to be an easier way than doing it by hand,” Fred finished easily.

“We tried to magically do it...”

“...but of course we got the words wrong.”

“Magically…” Dad repeated with a frown before wondering, “...how did you _magically_ try to do the dishes?” His mouth was twitching again, almost like he was trying very hard not to laugh. 

This dissolved the tension in the air, and encouraged George to burst out with a broad smile, “We just said the words!”

“Ahh…” Dad smiled invitingly, glancing down at the floor, “...just said the words.”

“Well George did,” Fred corrected knowingly, which was not appreciated. “He got them wrong.”

“Hey!” He shoved his brother, feeling his cheeks flush warm.

“What?” Fred whispered back loudly, “You did, didn’t you?”

“Hmmm…” Dad nodded once more, glancing at both of them thoughtfully. George didn’t like where this was headed, it was almost like Dad knew more than he was letting on. “Anything else you’d like to add?” He prompted with a curious lilt.

Swiftly glancing at one another with perplexed expressions they shook their heads. 

“No.”

“That’s everything.”

“Yeah, everything.”

George knit his brow together as his father knelt down to pick something up from between the legs of the head chair. He felt his heart immediately quicken and his ears go red upon seeing their mother’s wand loosely balanced between two of his fingers. 

“So...this mishap…” He gestured to the sink and the charred drapes, “...wouldn’t have anything to do with your mother’s wand being down here? Would it?”

“Well…” Fred started and then stopped, searching George’s face for some additional help. 

“We only borrowed it, Dad,” George chuckled lightly, inciting some snickers from Fred.

“Yeah we would’ve returned it once we were…”

“This is not a laughing matter!” He shouted as the palm of his hand that had Mum’s wand collided with the table top.

They visibly jumped. Any residual fun that might have been flickering between them was doused out right there. George gulped a bit anxiously and kept his gaze trained on his Dad’s shoes. He felt Fred bow his head similarly and inhale sharply too. 

“You could have burned the whole house down! You could have hurt one another! Or your brother or your sister! And then what? Hmm?” 

He paused, waiting to see if either of them had anything to say for themselves. Of course, neither one of them did. This was already a dreadful moment in time George wanted to forget forever.

When Dad picked up again, his tone found some level of restraint, which made them want to cry less. But his choice words were nothing to alleviate the guilt they felt, “It’s already difficult enough for your mother and you want to add _this_ to her list of worries? Did you know, if something were to happen to one of you...to any of your siblings...and your mother’s wand was in use...she’d be taken in for questioning? Did you know that? Did you think about that? No, of course you didn’t.”

Fred intoned in an unusual meek manner, “We're...sorry Dad.”

This made George’s throat close up in shame, “We-we didn’t mean...to.”

Another heavy exhalation filled the air and Dad took one of them under each arm. He squeezed them tightly to his sides for a second and then placed a kiss at each of their heads. “I know. I know,” He muttered swiftly, patting their shoulders before peering at them from the top rim of his glasses. “But you _cannot_ steal another person’s wand. Do you hear?”

George nodded vehemently, blinking several times. From the corner of his eye, he saw Fred doing the same. 

“If you promise not to do this again,” Dad assured them, that conspiratorial edge they could always count on, flooding his words. “We won’t say another word about it. Deal?”

“Deal,” They replied in unison. George felt his lips curve slightly.

“Good lads,” He sounded satisfied whenever he stood up to full height again. “Now…” He gestured back to the sink, “...finish the dishes. _Without_ magic.” His eyes then focused upwards at the ceiling while he remarked almost absentmindedly, “I need to check on your mother. And put _this_ back before she notices.” He twirled the wand between three of his fingers. Lifting it up for emphasis he reminded them, “Never again, yeah?”

“Cross our hearts, Dad,” Fred proclaimed, drawing a cross upon his chest.

George glanced over at him wryly and brought the back of his hand to his forehead before falling into his brother, “Hope to die!”

“Stick some needles in our eyes!” Fred exclaimed before they both descended into light laughter.

Shaking his head at them, they heard Dad let out a chortle, “Well I won’t go that far, but you might get a good old fashioned beating if you can’t uphold your end of the deal.” He jerked his head towards the sink again, “Away with you now.”

Once he was certain Dad was out of earshot, George let out a long breath, “Phew…”

“Yeah, close call,” Fred agreed with relief. 

They pulled the water clogged blanket from the sink, dripping water all over the place. George glanced down at the bottom edge of it that was now shaped in an even curve from where the fire ate it. 

“Oh dragon balls,” George groaned as he realized their Mum would see this and learn of their misdeeds, in spite of Dad's promise of never speaking of this incident again.

“Maybe we can convince Dad to fix it?” Fred offered with a tense, half smile. “It’s not that bad...is it?”

“Sure,” George drawled teasingly, “and Dad’s _really_ going to beat us if we misbehave.”

Fred snickered at this before balling up the blanket and carrying it off to the basket with dirty linens. “Might as well kiss our Christmas gifts goodbye,” He added sardonically.

“Nahh...she wouldn’t deprive us,” George reassured him knowingly. It wasn’t the first time they heard that threat along with the _good old fashioned beating_ one, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last time either. “But maybe we should get her something to make up for the extra work we've caused?”

Fred shrugged before quipping, “It’s something _saintly brothers one, two, and three_ would do.” 

George burst into laughter en route to the cupboard where the mop was. 

It was something to consider. But for now, the after effects of nearly burning down the house and then the mild scolding from Dad were still fresh enough in their minds that they dutifully cleaned up the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m supposed to be writing my Cedrella Black/Septimus Weasley fic, but my brain had other ideas this past weekend. So hopefully you found this chapter enjoyable. It's a chaotic mess really LOL. But maybe it fits because so are the twins. I mean I know that ending is kind of like whatever too, so just ignore it from a content quality standpoint. :P
> 
> Also, a couple of things that might be called into question. Or rather, that I feel I need to explain. I believe most of these thoughts derive from some part of canon. 
> 
> 1\. So Molly took a sleeping draught because having a migraine is dreadful and so there’s my offline explanation for why she remains unaware of the chaos unfolding in the kitchen.  
> 2\. I included the non-wand summoning spell as a way for Arthur to be alerted to the fact that some underage magic was going on in his own home. I suspect he would have been notified since he works at the Ministry and that just seemed like an efficient way for him to be made aware. Also saves them on sending an owl. And along that same line of thinking, he just knew Molly wasn’t well and it was a slower work day, so felt he could come home. I know it’s not fully explored here because POV is limited. And George might be aware of some things, but definitely wouldn’t have been aware of everything (like married couple shorthand).  
> 3\. I believe the Ministry can’t detect who is spell casting from a certain wand, just what the spell is and from what wand. And I think it a logical expectation that if magic were cast and someone (particularly a child) were hurt it would have been investigated. Hence Arthur’s comment.


End file.
